


love affairs

by moon_hedgehog



Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: All fluff no pain, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Morning Sex, Shameless Smut, these are some old drabbles, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 09:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_hedgehog/pseuds/moon_hedgehog
Summary: two times when Edward Hyde was a top and one time when, well, he wasn't.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> what do we say to a major uprising of jekyll/lanyon works in the tag? **not on my watch**.  
<s>haha i'm just kidding........ UNLESS</s>

Hyde wasn't ready for the fact that he'll be wanted right here and now. On the table. In the office. But here he is – biting his lip, squirming his pants over rough elm and looking up at his lover. Jekyll is beautiful as always. Self-collected. Confident in his damn suit and a tie around his neck. He, like that, needs to be _fucked_. His arrogance needs to be brought down, this cheap tinsel – taken off, and his lips need to be stuck in mad, sucking kisses. He needs to be marked and made moan, begging for more. And maybe, perhaps, Hyde was going to do it. But he didn't take into account one thing. Jekyll had the power to knock his off his feat on a one-two. And today he's decided to take advantage of that power.

“And what made you come in here?”

His voice is hoarse – it seems a little more and Edward will die from so much stubbornly restrained arousal. But he just throws his head up and opens his mouth to answer. Like usual, in his brazen and unashamed manner. Can't get in time. Jekyll suppresses him with a single finger on lips and dark eyes of wine.

“I didn't allow you to speak.”

That's fucked. This is a total, utter fucked failure – Edward thinks as soon as cold fingers on his chin lift his head higher, and Henry himself bends down and scorches his lips with a mint breath. _Come on. Kiss me. What are you waiting for, motherfucking bastard, I'm dying here, can't you see?_

“I ask not to get an answer, Edward. I already know it,” poised and polished, elegant Jekyll closes his eyes and Edward begins to feel nauseous at one glance at his fluffy eyelashes. “I know you came here so that I would distract from stupid advertisers and trainee-idiots. You came here so that I could sneak away from a conversation with the chief accountant, who doesn't understand a single shit in her business. You came here to wiggle your hips and pat your eyes – and you came here so I could fuck you as the cheapest whore in the whole city.” Almost gently smiles. “Isn't that so?”

Hyde feels steel tang on the tip of his tongue and is surprised to notice that he just bit through his lip. Lover's soft fingers wipe the blood from his face. All of this is too surreal, but sometimes it's the only way with Jekyll. Hyde doesn't know why he came. But he's looked at with such lust that only one word remains in his throat.

“Yes.”

◎

Jekyll's fingers are on him and inside of him, and it's terribly, _heavenly_ good. Hyde wants more so he impatiently moves his hips, but the same fingers intercept and tease him. That bitch – that one who's shamelessly laid him on the table – is probably smiling now, because Edward hears a quiet chuckle from above. He bites. Hard. Henry's grin turns into a scream – not loud enough to call the entire department into his office, but enough for Edward to receive his punishment this very minute. Because he practically chokes when he's entered without any warning; but there is no pain, zero, absolutely. This is so in a taste of dear Jekyll – endless torture with pleasure, a river of viscous honey, absorbing all senses and making whimper and ask for more and more and more. Hyde can never refuse him. It's not in his power to stop wanting to flounce down the sheets (table?), and call his lover by name; not in his power to give up under wet kisses between thrusts and cute nonsense that's whispered in his ear afterward. He's been hooked on it for a long time and isn't planning to tie knots. Bastard Henry Jekyll turned out to be the best drug.


	2. ii

Edward Hyde sincerely believed that he had managed to see a lot in his life – nevertheless, every morning was dramatically different from the previous one. All of them were photos, a kaleidoscope of multi-colored spots in memories, warmed by the first rays of the sun leaves on the tree of his life. He woke up on missions, with knuckles peeled to gore and bandaged ribs. He woke up on the roofs, in god-forgotten cities, where he was sent to pursue precious artifacts with a two-hour break for sleep. He woke up in someone else's beds, in someone else's arms and with someone else's smell on the skin. He met the dawn – not going to sleep at all – in hospital wards, curled up next to his companions.

All these memories had been gradually turning into frozen amber – nice but cheap, just put it on a shelf for beauty. All these memories, all these days of his life altogether would've never been able to replace those rare mornings Edward favored in the quiet harbor of his mind, returning when a new, unexpected storm shook his being.

He woke up first. It was always about five or six in the morning – the sun was just beginning to rise, and the curtains of the room didn't allow to disturb their peace. Their fingers were intertwined, and before getting up silently, Edward spent a long time looking at this lock, this small, almost inseparable link that seemed to connect not only their flesh but also their souls. Henry was _ephemeral_, everything in him was too thin and sharp, and fragile, and tart, and bitter, and soft at the same time and it was driving insane, no alcohol needed.

Edward kissed his eyelashes and smiled into his neck, catching still sleepy muttering in his ear and lazy strokes of his hair. He always took over. And Henry almost never opposed. His thighs trembled under all the scratches that covered Edward's palms; his lips parted in shameless moans; and his back curved on white sheets. Those were always early mornings and they were filled with lazy, I-love-you-infinitely and to galaxy sex; burnable tenderness and a thousand smeared kisses. Those were always early mornings and there was never enough of them because work-life-reputation and absolutely no time for I'm-yours ballads; but while they still were, Edward knew what was he waking up for. All other days.


	3. iii

Henry isn't getting enough sleep.

This truthful and simple sooth has settled somewhere in the most secluded corner of his consciousness, carefully preserved from others. No, there is no need to bring it up to the attention of Lanyon, Rachel, and after them the whole Society that at night this noble, respectable gentleman wakes up in wet sheets, like some kind of teenager who's barely stepped onto the maturity path. And later locks himself in the bathroom, impatiently dropping down pajamas, and throwing off a new wave of tension. Moreover, all his dear friends have _absolutely _no need to know that in his dreams his hands are tied with a belt, right to the headboard of the bed, his pliable body caressed and brought to a total frenzy with cute attributes that treat female dementia. And certainly be hidden from unnecessary ears and eyes that the reason for all this is a rather long disappearance of Jekyll's sarcastic assistant named Edward Hyde, who, using the long-awaited separation from his alter ego (_fucked him on the table and_) has disappeared into the darkness of dangerous Soho streets.

Not that Henry is worried about him. No, really. Edward possesses good fortune of a gold ingot from Japan and dexterity of the devil himself, and therefore it would be foolish to expect he'd be caught. Or hurt. Or hanged. Or blackened. Or… well, one has to admit, staying alone with himself, his thoughts and his office, the doctor cannot throw a thousand and one disturbing thought off his head; nervously sipping red wine from a faceted glass. If he could, he would've probably stopped Hyde – but unfortunately, the man preferred to sneak out faster than Henry came to senses. All this can't but puts pressure on the poor scientist's nervous system, taking away his daily rest particles.

And Henry isn't getting enough sleep.

◎

An absolute, terrible, intolerable fool named Edward Hyde appears on his doorstep suddenly. Jekyll folds his arms on his chest and collects all the threateningness available to him in his voice – all the threateningness available to him breaks up into millions of fragments against a charmingly-guilty smile on the opposite, and a sly glance. And it's kind of… raining.

After a couple of minutes of warm tea and pleasantries, Henry is pressed against the wall; Hyde's warmed hands wander over his chest, pulling at the crumpled shirt. This is fine, but he doesn't want it that way. He doesn't want it that way, and Edward knows it because he pulls away and drags him along, and drops him on the bed, and ties him to its headboard just like in a fucking dream; and slides tongue from the Adam's apple to the navel, and bites the delicate skin of thighs. Purrs something in his ear, knocking every moan out of Jekyll and not letting him chew his lip.

After, Henry examines red stripes on his wrists and pulls Hyde onto the bed – he honestly wants to kick his ass, but hugs instead.

This is the first time in many weeks when he gets enough sleep. And the next day, Edward doesn't disappear.


End file.
